


What's in an Age?

by SaltyWords (agent4hire22)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Castiel's Birthday, Established Relationship, Fluff, IT'S EVERYWHERE, M/M, Mild Language, Party Planning, Poor Sam, i always have swearing, i feel dumb tagging that, omg so much fluff, the fluff is getting into my wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7739173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent4hire22/pseuds/SaltyWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam needs to know Cas' age, dammit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's in an Age?

**Author's Note:**

> A super quick write for the lovely precious-passenger who requested: Dean and Sam party plan for Cas' birthday. Happy birthday, my dear. I hope you enjoy your fluff. (Also, Misha's birthday is soon, so that's where I get the age from.)
> 
> Read at your own risk. I advise you do so without high expectations.

What’s in an Age?

Sam wrung the flier from _Party Depot_ in his hands. “I just need to know his age,” he said.

“For what?”

“I’m thinking of doing like, a--uh…”

“A what?”

“Like a birthday thing.”

Dean smiled. “A birthday party. For Cas?”

“Yeah, I mean, why not?”

Dean shrugged and listened as the beer sloshed in his half empty can. “Because he doesn’t have a birthday for starters.”

“Well, he’s got something.”

“Okay, but why? Whatever he’s got ain’t gonna fit on the cake, know what I mean?”

“But, we celebrate yours and we celebrate mine, and he sits there for ‘em. He’s gotta feel left out. Don’t you think?”

“ _Celebrate’s_ a strong word,” Dean mumbled taking an easy drink. The beer was cheap, but it was better than water, and the sun was baking eggs on the sidewalk outside. “There certainly ain’t party hats and cake at ours.” He flicked fingers at the stack of cardboard hats center stage, just hanging out awkward next to the morning paper in the middle of the table.

“They were free with the cake. Don’t worry about the damn hats.”

“I don’t get hats.”

"Dean--don’t you think it’s fair? Having a day for Cas. I mean, he’s your…” 

“My what?” Dean pressed and Sam shuffled, much to Dean’s satisfaction. He couldn’t have predicted how much he’d like to watch his brother squirm when everything was all said and done.

“Your _whatever_ ,” Sam spat.

“Yes, that’s exactly right. He’s my whatever,” Dean smiled and shook his head.

“Okay, what is he then? What do you want me to call him?”

“None of your damn business is what. You wanna know his age, just ask him.”

“I can’t ask him, it’s suppose to be a surp--”

“Ask me what?” Cas filled the kitchen doorway, a lithe curve of dark against the muddled lamplight bleeding through the front room. He folded a book and tucked it up against his chest: _Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus_ by Ludwig Wittgenstein.

Dean curled a judgmental brow. _That’s just what Spock needs. More logic._

He opened his mouth to say it, but Sam cut him off, “Nothing,” and it got Dean back on track.

“Sam wants to know how old you are.”

“Dean!”

“Why?”

“For your birthday.”

“Oh for fuck--” Sam threw his hands up and paced away.

“I wasn’t _birthed,”_ Cas said pulling out the old tried-and-true _finger quotes._

Dean puffed and eyed the mouth of his can.“That’s what I said.”

“Okay then,” Sam ran fingers through his hair, “humor me, Cas.”

“It’s hazy.”

“The hell’s that mean, _it’s hazy?_ You turnin’ into a Magic Eight Ball on me?” Dean watched Cas take it with his usual squint before trudging through another of his murky references.

“Well, there’s a discrepancy in my memory, and a lot of that has to do with the fluidity of time, really. But, for example, I distinctly remember a number of events within the last two millennia, like the fall of the tower of Babel, raising you from Hell, the Leviathan thing--”

“Cas…”

“\--but I also distinctly remember watching one of the first creatures crawl from the sea. One of the creatures that would eventually evolve into man. I remember speaking to my brothers and sisters about it--” he started to _finger quotes_ again, and Dean caught him with a light rub to the back of his leg. 

_Don’t worry about the angels, you’re fine._

“There’s a difference of five hundred and thirty million-odd years between those events, so--”

“He’s forty-two,” Dean said shoving a hat toward him and giving him a wink. “Happy forty-two, buddy.”

Cas stumbled, took the hat and held it awkwardly beside his book. “Thank you,” he said catching Dean’s eye, then finding Sam. He was oddly touched, and it squirmed the warm spot in Dean’s chest. He supposed he owed Sam a beer for his trouble, for thinking of Cas, and making the moment happen. These kinds of moments were so few and far between, he felt like he could count ‘em on one hand.

He pulled up from the chair and pat Cas’ cheek with a smile. 


End file.
